


Agape

by draculard



Category: The Witch (2016)
Genre: Arousal from being Raped, Dubious Consent, F/M, Genital Torture, Human Sacrifice, Implied/Referenced Infanticide, Painful Sex, Rape as Religious Devotion, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, major age difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 04:27:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20669306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Caleb's never been touched like this before.





	Agape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiriamKenneath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriamKenneath/gifts).

He’s never been touched like this before. 

The Witch in the Woods pushes him down on an old mattress stuffed with straw; the hand on Caleb’s chest is slim, the fingers long, the nails curved. But as he stares at it, it seems to change.

She touches his cock and suddenly her hand is wrinkled, the skin loose, the nails overgrown and yellow. She kisses him and her lips seem to sag. 

She tastes sweet and putrid, like rotting apples. The slightest brush of her gnarled old hand makes Caleb’s bile rise, makes his throat tighten and ache, makes his cock stir. He bucks his hips unwillingly, his breeches pulled down to his knees, and grinds himself against the heel of her palm.

And she looks at him with such disgust it makes him quiver. Her eyes pin him down and for just a moment, gazing into them, Caleb thinks her pupils look like leeches swimming in black water  — a faint glimmer of sleek, blood-fattened bodies beneath a surface coated in algae and scum. He can almost smell it when she leans in close, a fetid wave of air that makes him cringe against the old stained mattress, that makes him shrink away, makes him want to cry out for help, for his father, for Thomasin, for a kind and merciful God.

She tightens her fingers, the knuckles standing out like knots on a tree. Her nails dig into the skin of his small cock, into the pink head, into the glistening slit, until it feels like she’s taken the dull edge of an axe and is using it to slowly, methodically separate the flesh from his bones.

He squinches his eyes shut against the pain. His shoulders draw up into a tense line, so high up that they crush his earlobes against his head. His spine curves, twists, twitches in an attempt to get away.

“No,” he whispers, but the Witch continues. She pushes his head to the side, crushing his nose into the mattress. She scuttles across him like an insect crossing his body in the dark, her skin as thin and dry as paper.

“No,” Caleb says again, chin trembling. “No.”

But she mounts him anyway, and he’s helpless to push her off him, helpless to fight her off, helpless to run away. She pushes him as deep inside her as he’ll go. Her hair dangles in his face  — grey, wispy strands that seem to wind around his throat, threatening to choke him, holding him firmly in place.

And the pain —

The pain is beautiful. The pain is ecstatic.

_ This,  _ Caleb thinks incoherently, tears leaking from his eyes.  _ This is God. _

And he isn’t merciful at all.

* * *

After his orgasm, after the pain has faded to a dull ache, Caleb examines his limp cock and the jagged red holes where the Witch’s fingernails carved into him, tearing layers of flesh away. Blood has dried in the creases of his thighs, matting what little pubic hair he has. He glances at her  — she stands in the darkness across the little underground room, the top of her head brushing against the dirt ceiling, her back to him, her buttocks sagging and folding in on her thighs. 

When she’s half in shadow like this, he can’t tell which one she is: the beautiful woman who grabbed him roughly by the chin and gave him his first kiss, or the wretched old hag who took him to bed, who shoved his cock into her dry old cunt and rode him ‘til he came.

He stands slowly, gingerly, and approaches her. His limbs are heavy from exhaustion; his knees threaten to give out when he stands. The hard-packed earth beneath his feet tingles against his bare soles. It seems to shift beneath him with every step. It seems almost alive, like the dug-out itself is breathing around him, caressing him every time part of his body touches the dirt.

There’s a stump by the Witch, a tall, old amputated tree. Something has dried on the surface of it, something brown and rusty. Caleb places his palm on the stump and relishes the harsh bite of the wood against his skin. He presses down on it hard enough to leave angry indentations in his skin.

With his fingernails, he digs flakes of blood and broken teeth and gristle out of the wood. He tries to imagine who was killed here, wonders why it doesn’t scare him to see evidence of death. He sees a boy much like himself, naked and satisfied and fevered, laying his head against the stump. Waiting faithfully. He sees the Witch in the Wood raising a hammer far above her head and swinging it down, smashing the metal head of it straight through the boy’s skull, through his fragile jaw. Shattering his cheekbones into sharp, white chunks. Severing his nose.

Shuddering, Caleb forces himself to take a deep breath.

He’s hard again, he realizes. His cock stands flush against his stomach; his nipples are erect. He can feel the blood rushing through his veins, making his nerves stand on end in anticipation of more pleasure, more unspeakable pain.

And the Witch, his one and only god, is staring at him with her dark and greedy eyes.

Ready, Caleb realizes, for another sacrificial lamb.

* * *

This time, she smiles at him with the cold indifference of a deity bestowing some strange gift upon a loyal subject. When she digs her fingernails into the wounds on Caleb’s cock, he bites straight through his lip, feels warm blood gushing down his chin.

This time, gasping for air and blind from agony, from agape, Caleb says, “Yes, yes, yes.”


End file.
